Richard Weems
This call may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance. In a few words, can you tell me the reason for your call so I can direct you to the appropriate department?
I have broken down.
You said, auto repair. Is that correct?
No. I have broken down.
Okay. Are you calling about a flat tire and need assistance?
Yes…
Great–
…the second part only.
–I can help you with that. Can you tell me the closest address to where your car is currently parked?
She took the car.
You said… Bookertown Mall. Is this correct?
It wasn’t right of her to leave me like this. I’m not sure how I can go on.
Okay, if you need help locating your car, you can use the location finder on our app. Just go to Locate in the main menu. Were these instructions helpful?
Will it tell me where she is? Will it tell me if she’s gone to her sister’s? Or her dad’s?
I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. Do you need a minute to confirm your car’s location?
My only hope is that she’s at her sister’s. Not that her sister ever approved of me, but if she’s at her dad’s, he’s probably out looking for me so he can mount my head on his wall. I want her to know how sorry I am for whatever I did. I want her to know I am apologizing for everything she wants me to apologize for.
I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.
You and me both.
Main menu. Para español, por favor presione dos.
I can’t go on.
In a few words, tell me the reason for your call.
I came home, and though she wasn’t always there when I came home, there was something empty about the place, more than usual. I’d been sleeping on the couch for the past couple of months, so my bedding was still there, the book I’d been reading to fall asleep, even the pad with the letter I had been writing her. We used to write each other notes and letters, leave them in surprising places like in the pasta jar or folded under the soap in the shower, shielded in plastic. But in the bedroom, half of her clothes were gone. So was Mathilde, the Russian blue.
She left the litterbox, though. Lumps of shit and piss still in it.
Tell me again the problem you are having.
* * *
He put his forehead against the wheel.
“I was getting over my problems, that’s the thing. I hadn’t gone to The Salty Dog for two whole months to prove to her I could, show her that I was no longer the man who’d pocket his ring when a looker sashayed in. But all she said was that I was missing the point. And now she won’t answer my messages, my calls, nothing. So, I’m down to this.”
Can you tell me in a few words the problem you are having?
He was ready to tell her again that he was trying…
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? What were the problems he had to get over, anyway?
“No, I can’t. Neither of us can.”
Okay. Would you like me to put you through to one of our associates?
“Thank you,” and he said it again, louder. “Thank you!”
He turned on the headlights and put the car in R. He backed away from the ridge. “I don’t get it, don’t you see? How can I do this if I don’t get why I’m doing it?” The voice started to say something about holding on, and even though he didn’t need her say-so anymore, he kept the line open.
He turned around and drove down the path. Somewhere there had to be someone who could explain all this to him. He would just have to keep looking.
Once he was off the overlook path, he made for the highway. He didn’t rush. He had time. He opened his window and told the darkness around him, “I don’t know my problems yet.”
I understand, and I am happy to assist. Please listen to your available options.m